Christmas Eve, twenty minutes to closing time. Traffic is dense; people are filling every space on the footpath. Need I say more?
I am a woman on a mission. Being a godmother is something I take seriously, considering my older sister is someone whom Superman would never mess with. Milly, my goddaughter is heartbreakingly cute which adds to the pressure of not disappointing her.
I am, chasing up and down the aisles looking for this doll, Princess Fairy Gumdrop, a doll that will save my universe. I am frantic. I spot it. I lunge and meet a large warm hand.
Glancing up my blue eyes meet the sexiest pair of brown ones, a woman could ever dream about. I blink. Focus, I tell myself, remember Gillian you are a woman on a mission.
“Hands off the Princess fairy!” I growl at him.
“Don’t call me a fairy!” His voice is suave, smooth and sexy.
I try to ignore his attributes. I am a woman with a mission, I silently chant. Aloud I say, “Don’t change the subject, hands off, she’s mine.”
Brown eyes do not waver. He breaks out this sunshine of a smile. Gritting my teeth, I remind myself this is a life or death situation.
“What is it? You don’t like men!” He softly purrs.
I am not immune, or stupid. “‘Course I do, but not at this moment when you are throttling the life out of my goddaughter’s present.”
“I would not know how to, ” he begins. Then it happens.
The world implodes. The earth moved, really moved, not because of this hunk rattling my hormones. The floor shook, the shelves began to shake and shiver. I did not let go, neither did he.
“This way,” he yelled tugging me and the canny princess along as if we had any choice in the matter.
“Let go!” I shout grabbing a wobbling shelf.
He stared over my shoulder. His voice changed, wavered as he said, “Move now or you will get hurt.”
I turned to look. I moved. A domino effect was coming our way. The boxed dolls looked scared as they danced off the shelves toward the floor and us.
We ran. All about us there were screams and sounds of people being hit by dislodged toys. “‘Can this get any worse?” I muttered. Trust me to open my big mouth. It did.
There was a loud bang followed by a hiss.
“Gas.” Voices screamed. “Gas. Run!”
We did. “It’s not gas,” he panted.
“What? Are you an expert?”
He smiled in a very Hugh Grant manner.
“No but you could say I am an expert in life. Besides if it was gas we would be dead.”
He stopped. I tumbled very neatly into his broad solid frame. “What are you a wall?” I moaned as I rubbed my shoulder.
“Close, rugby player.”
“Typical I can’t meet a nice puny guy who would step aside and say; go ahead please, be my guest and take the last doll. No. I meet a hulking great hunk who decides chivalry got left behind on Noah’s ark.”
“Ah, so you think I am a hunk. How high do I score? Ten, eleven, twelve?”
I scowled. “Minus twenty two.”
“Your brain score I take it.”
“No. I’m just stating a fact; I am immune to everything bar this doll.”
“Ditto.” He lowered his face to mine. He was inches away; I could smell his peppermint breath and could not look away from those brown eyes. The world stopped for one tiny second. Neither of us could tear our eyes off the other.
Then all hell resumed once again as we heard what sounded like gunfire…….
part two will be posted tomorrow.